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Summary
Furina stares at her, then glances down—at their positions, at the undeniable evidence of what Arlecchino is saying.
“You’re telling me,” she says slowly, “that you’ve accidentally drugged yourself into this state.”
Arlecchino pointedly avoids her gaze, shifting slightly—her own rendition of embarrassment. She sighs, likely already wishing for the conversation to be over.
“Yes—it seems life is truly stranger than fiction, at times.”
Or
Arlecchino needs help. Furina steps up to the plate.